


I swear I've done this before

by shittershutter



Category: The Hobbit RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3371177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shittershutter/pseuds/shittershutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I swear I’ve done this before,” Lee mutters, even though he can’t untangle his legs from around Richard’s torso by himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I swear I've done this before

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetad, so let's all hope my natural grasp on grammar is strong enough. :)

“I’ve been riding a British face this whole weekend, couldn’t answer the phone” he informs his sister, muttering it into his palms and peeking at her through his fingers. She gets that look on her face, like they are kids again and it’s Christmas and it’s Lee who’s just got all the coolest presents. 

She asks if they are getting any Sherlock actors into their family tree any time soon, because those two are the only British faces she’s aware of. Well, those and Gary Oldman, but that’s reaching for the sun even by Lee’s standards.

Lee sends her a picture. He could probably just walk across the balcony and peep inside the bedroom to show her Richard sleeping there, but it feels too soon for the family introductions, even in such an one-sided and creepy fashion. 

“He’s not an angry person, I swear, his brow bone is just too expressive,” Lee gestures at his own forehead vaguely. “His face is this way”. 

“Aw, look, you’re finally hanging out with people your own size,” she’s googling Richard now, her eyes flickering across the screen. It’s deep night where she is, and here the sun is up and bright, so Lee thinks about that cognac bottle he has in the kitchen. He decides against it. He’s bohemian, but he’s not that bohemian, dear Christ.

Retracing one’s sexual escapades does not go well with tea, but what can you do.

“Look at you, two weeks of British dick, and you trade coffee for tea like it’s nothing.”

“It’s a good dick, though.” And it’s been a month, a whole month. 

It all starts with Lee having tantric sex experiences with Richard’s voice and his stories. Richard unleashes his impressive and perfectly grammatically constructed vocabulary on him. There is no time for Lee to duck, to run for cover. 

Lee struggles to maintain a facial expression that someone with a triple-digit IQ would have, but all his efforts get compromised by the liquid silk of Richard’s voice telling old stage anecdotes. 

His voice hums hypnotically. He is one of those people who is uncomfortable with raising his tone in everyday life or showing too much of emotion; this restriction gives him this silent intensity, so close to surface, yet hidden well under the skin. Lee feels it between his own ribs. It echoes through and drives him in. Every curse Richard throws in here and there to intensify what he’s saying, every awkward dirty joke goes like a knife through butter. 

Their thighs touch at some point, during one trailer party or another, and there is no turning back from there. 

“I didn’t go full whore on him”, he adds quickly. “Not right away.”

His sister just laughs on the other end of the world.

Richard calls him his sunshine. And Lee is in the middle of his trivial and moderately funny Big Hollywood story, waving his hands around, all excited, when Richard just says it. He tells him how even the gloom doom of London in late autumn can definitely become warm and fuzzy with Lee around. 

After that, of course, it becomes extremely inappropriate not to suck his dick. It becomes downright rude. 

It does not go smoothly for them, not the first time when they get to it and Richard gets stuck inside his sweater in the heat of the moment. 

He is in the middle of an intense fight training -- unlike Lee, whose own gym sessions look more like an aggressive ballet with some tai chi thrown in -- and every sharp movement hurts. He laughs, his head inside the sweater then, one arm raised too high above his head. It’s impossible to lower it down as his shoulders lock and trap him. Lee just dives inside the sweater and kisses him in darkness, warmth and smell of wool all around them. 

His hand massages Richard’s cock, rubbing the cooling saliva into the skin. 

“I swear I’ve done this before,” Richard whispers, and Lee can feel him smiling.

Richard tastes of chemicals behind his ears: artificial aftertaste of prosthetics, the soapy hint of cosmetic products and moisturizers they use on him after. Lee huffs at that with mild irritation -- he wants to really taste the man. It’s only when he gets to the collarbones and rubs his mouth down the man’s chest that he hums in satisfaction, licking the salty sweat and the bitter cologne off Richard. 

When they get to the bed, Lee’s seemingly flawless plan of action gets all mixed up. Richard slides down his body and pushes his face right down there, with no hesitation.

“How thoughtful of him,” his sister mutters, refilling her glass and clinking it against the screen. “A good man always goes for an old good crotch dive first.”

“Don’t call it that,” Lee shudders. “We’ll grow you your personal British family tree branch, just don’t call it that.”

He shivers again, but it’s not a fully negative kind of shiver. 

So he pushes his face in there, and Lee cannot see it, obviously, due to all the physical and logistical restrictions, but he damn straight can feel it: his sweeping tongue, and his sucking lips, and his burning breath, and his hums and soft moans, licking and kissing and sucking him inside and out.

They both ignore his cock, Richard due to his later evil plans for it and Lee – just because he’s too busy digging his fingers into Richard’s scalp, which he likes, judging by the shudder he feels with his whole lower body, he does. And Lee chokes on a good dozen of iloveyous and two full-blown marrymes, his lungs pushing against the ribcage. Then Richard swallows his cock down, and everything stops. 

Richard gets up some unidentified time later -- Lee can hear him brushing his teeth in the bathroom. He returns before the bed gets cold and fucks Lee into a better tomorrow with the slow and intense thrusts of his hips. 

“I swear I’ve done this before,” Lee mutters, even though he can’t untangle his legs from around Richard’s torso by himself.

Richard laughs at him and kisses him long and hard. His tongue tastes of menthol and wine. 

“I think I should fly over,” a voice shakes Lee out of the obscene sequence of visualizations. “I sense a special case here.”

Lee does not argue. When your heart feels funnier than your ass the morning after it’s pretty safe to claim the case is special. 

“First class.”

“Honey, I fly business and I’m a fucking star of the whole shebang,” he unleashes his best Liza Minnelli impression on her. She was always more of a Streisand girl herself, so she remains unimpressed. 

He hears Richard moving around the bedroom then, the sound muted by the door, and it snaps him out of character. He wonders if British people find it acceptable to wander around the house naked the same way Australians do. 

“I have to go, I’ll book the tickets,” Lee breathes out with no pauses between the words, and snaps the laptop closed before his sister manages to protest. He gets up and goes to the bedroom to check for himself.


End file.
